


just catch that wave (don't be afraid of loving me)

by blackkat



Series: MerMay Drabbles [6]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Age of Sail, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Dangerous Flirting, F/M, Flirting, Rescue, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24193417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “You know,” Shaak says, and watches the man jerk upright with wide eyes. She smiles careful not to show teeth, and pulls herself out of the water just enough to fold her arms on the stone, resting her chin on them. “I usually eat Men like you.”
Relationships: Colt (Star Wars)/Shaak Ti
Series: MerMay Drabbles [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727092
Comments: 11
Kudos: 443





	just catch that wave (don't be afraid of loving me)

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: shaak ti hunter style long teeth mermaid rescues either jango or colt and decides they're interesting enough not to eat.

“You know,” Shaak says, and watches the man jerk upright with wide eyes. She smiles careful not to show teeth, and pulls herself out of the water just enough to fold her arms on the stone, resting her chin on them.

“You know,” she says, now that she has his attention, those pretty earth-brown eyes fixed on her, “I usually eat Men like you.”

The sailor doesn’t move for a long, long moment, eyes, tracing over what he can see of her. His breath is coming fast, even if he’s already controlling it, and his hand twitches towards the sword at his belt. Shaak left it with him, of course; there's no chance it can cut through her skin, after all. Not unless he’s _very_ motivated.

“If you eat sailors, why the hell am I still alive?” he asks harshly. “The rest of my crew—”

Shaak tips her head, then uncurls her arms, sets her hands flat on the stone. With a heave, she hauls herself up and out of the water, settling on the floor of the sea cave with her meters of tail still curling in the pool. She hears the man’s breath catch, sharp and loud, and gives him a smile, pleased by the reaction.

This time, she doesn’t bother to hide her teeth.

“You were thrown overboard,” she says, and leans in, long talons scraping against the stone, lekku curling beside her hands as she looks up at him.

The man stares at her, then swallows and looks away, rubbing his hands over his face. “Kriffing _pirates_ ,” he says disgustedly. “They took the ship?”

“And your men,” Shaak confirms. She had considered eating the pirate that the man had managed to kill before they took him, because it was such a nice gift, but—well. More important things had occupied her attention.

Grief twists his face, along with anger; they vibrate over Shaak's senses, and she’s a hunter, is used to fear and rage, but they still make her lekku curl uncomfortable, the sensations sharp against her nerves. The man usually smiles, laughs in between the sharpness; he’s kind to the cabin boys, and fond of his men, and that’s the first thing that caught her attention when she was following his ship. This now is all sharp, though, all rough, and she wants to reach for him.

“Sithing hells,” the man says, and curls forward, burying his face in his hands. “All of them? Were any…”

Carefully, Shaak pulls herself a little closer, the slide easy across the slick stone. “No one else was dumped in the ocean,” she says. “I would have smelled them.”

“You sure your kin didn’t eat them?” the man challenges, and this time his anger is al aimed at Shaak, a bared blade.

It’s not _really_ meant for her, though, so Shaak brushes it away, lets it fade as she watches him with calm understanding. It takes a long moment, but he looks away, shoulders dipping, expression twisting, and Shaak leans in. She lays a hand on his shoulder, careful of her claws, and says, “I have no kin in these waters, sailor. There is only me.”

“Colt,” the man says, raising his head again. He looks her over, eyes lingering on her red skin, her white markings, the blue of her montrals and lekku. He takes a breath, then smiles, wry, and says, “Things in the ocean that are as pretty as you are usually poisonous.”

Shaak laughs, leaning in. She traces a knuckle down his chest, the open white shirt revealing skin. “I didn’t think your kind would find my kind attractive,” she says, amused.

“So you're not poisonous?” Colt asks, raising a brow at her.

Humming, Shaak reaches up, and skims a curious hand over his short buzz of black hair. “It doesn’t just mean poison,” she says. “Just as often, it means danger.”

“No need to ask if you're dangerous,” Colt says, a little rueful. He pulls her hand away, turning it over to look at it, and then glances up to hold her gaze. “Why’d you save me?” he asks.

“Because you were interesting,” Shaak says, and lets him draw his thumb up the markings on her arm, tracing the muscle. “You are dangerous as well, but you can be kind with the young ones.”

Colt pauses, expression darkening, and he closes his eyes. “Those pirate bastards will execute them,” he says, ragged. “Fives, and Hevy, and all the rest. They're going to take them back to their base, string them up, and turn them into a warning for the navy.”

Shaak frowns, pulling back. “They would be so cruel?” she asks with concern, and Colt laughs, bitter and sharp as brackish water.

“They're not like you,” he says, and his hands settle at her waist, thumbs brushing the spot where smooth red skin turns to tough red-and-silver hide. Shaak shivers at the feeling, and Colt catches it, watching her with dark eyes.

“Not like me?” Shaak asks, tilting her head. “But you hunt both of us.”

“Yeah,” Colt says, “but they don’t just kill because they're hungry.”

Shaak doesn’t even have to consider. She smiles, with teeth, and says, “I know where they go, when they have captives.”

Colt stills, and his eyes widen. “You do?” he echoes, and pulls back to look at her. “But—it’s hidden, with Dooku's magics—”

Shaak laughs, and this smile is _all_ teeth, more threat than anything else. “Dooku is just a Man,” she says. “My kind has roamed the oceans since long before the ancestors of Man first climbed down from their trees and stood on two feet. I do not fear him.”

“No,” Colt says, barely a breath, and there's something in his face that Shaak can't read. “I guess you don’t. The stories—your kind being sorcerers, that’s _true_?”

Shaak chuckles. “In a way,” she says. “It takes study, and I have studied.” She pauses, studying the lines in his face, the wear of concern, the fear, and feels herself soften. Reaching up, she curves a hand around his cheek, then leans in, pressing her lips to his forehead.

“Rest, Colt,” she says. “When the tide turns, we may leave to find your men.”

Broad fingers find hers, and Colt brings his hands together, hers caught in the cup of them. He stares at her for a long moment, then breathes out, leaning down to lay a kiss across her knuckles. “What can I call you?” he asks, glancing up at her. “You saved me, and you're going to save my men, but I don’t have anything to give you in return—”

Shaak shakes her head, twisting her hands to lace their fingers together, red and brown. “I'm Shaak, and I don’t ask for a reward,” she says, and smiles at him. “I told you. I usually eat men like you. But you're different. And seeing that is reward enough for me.”

“I think the sea just made me the luckiest man alive,” Colt says roughly, and closes the space between them to kiss her, hard and desperate and rough.

Shaak kisses back, soothing and steady, and drags him down to the slick stone floor to keep him occupied until the tide shifts.


End file.
